Jahana leaves the Golden Lion. She needs some air and some quiet. Much as she lives for the performance, there's only so much she can take before solace calls to her to recharge. Besides, she also needs to take in a breath to cleanse the taste of Atianna from her system.

Thoughts racing about what Aldan had just said to her, she contemplates her next moves. Wealthy houses are always on the lookout for history keepers - people to record, and, more importantly, share, their tales.

*And by the sound of it, they have tales a plenty to share,* she thinks. She had heard about families who take in long lost relatives. But never one that sought to swell it's ranks with outsiders, much less give them the honor of a name.

She needs to find out more ... especially about the dark Aventi who smells of the sea.

Outside the Golden Lion, the city of Duirt stretched in all directions, a place of shifting fortunes and whispered intrigues, where wealth and ruin often walked hand in hand. The cobblestone roadways, slick from the lingering sea mist, reflected the soft glow of lantern light spilling from shuttered windows and the flickering torches of passing watchmen. The scent of brine and damp wood clung to the air, mingling with the more earthly aromas of roasting meats from late-night vendors and the lingering spice of imported goods from distant shores.

The road sloped gently downward, guiding the way toward the South Quarter, where the Silver Rain Republic’s presence was strongest. Here, the architecture shifted—timbered buildings lined the streets, some reinforced with salvaged shipwood, their frames creaking softly in the cool night breeze. The voices of sailors and merchants carried through the air, some laughing over dice games played on overturned barrels, others arguing over debts and cargo still waiting to be unloaded from moored ships.

Among them, Vaelion Atianna moved with unhurried ease, his long coat trailing lightly behind him, his midnight-black hair stirred by the wind. His footfalls were steady, deliberate, the kind of stride that belonged to a man who knew exactly where he was going, yet had no need to rush. The teal glow of his eyes caught the occasional glint of lantern light, a shimmer that disappeared just as quickly as it appeared—like the sea itself, always shifting, never fully revealing its depths.

From her vantage point, Jahana could see him, her keen gaze tracing the way the crowd reacted to him without even realizing it—the subtle way people moved aside, not out of fear, but recognition. He was a man who belonged down at the docks, among the ships and salt-stained streets, his presence as natural as the tide rolling in.

And yet, there was something else—a quiet pull, a question waiting to be answered.

Where was the raven-haired Atianna going?

And more importantly… did she intend to follow?

She steps to one side, leaning casually against the side of a building so as not not to block the flow of traffic in the market, and notes his passing. She's not entirely surprised to see him. He had left before her with quite the dramatic exit. In his mind, she's sure that he was expecting her to follow him. That she left after him ... merely coincidence. She had lingered, after all, to speak with his fairer cousin for some time. That he lingered long enough to be seen by her ... less coincidental.

Cousin. There it was again - the family connection. Her mind continues to lap against the mystery, the enigma, that is the Atianna family. Were they "kissing cousins", these folx? Did they see themselves, truly, as family? She's betting some did. Others ... others used the connection for their own personal gain. They must. Not everyone was as altruistic as the Lady of the House would seem to be. She wondered, not for the first time, about trying to finagle an audience with the lauded lady, to offer her services.

She crosses her arms, allowing her eyes to soften, take in the wider picture before her, and her mind to wander. What has she to do with families? They are, to her, only a means to coin in her pocket, both immediate and with the web of tales she will weave for herself ... and them, of course. She wants nothing to do with being shackled to single spot. Her own family tried to do that to her. She chose to follow her heart instead. In doing so, she discovered her passion.

And, indeed, the life was good to her and for her. Now, it seems, it was about to be better, but only if she played her cards right. Fortunately, the Universe had dealt her a winning hand.

Were all of the Atianna clan this commanding? Aldan didn't seem so, yet there was something underneath that affable exterior. And ... what was her name? ... Ven? ... undefeated in any battle. It made this family, even without the dark, intriguing Aventi cousin, one that she wanted to get close to.

She watches him stride through the sea of people and wonders how he would move in the water. His muscular form fluid; his presence unmistakable. He was the sea. As such, he should be avoided lest he become her prison.

Yet she could not take her eyes from him. He stirred something in her that no one since Chelkor had done. She breathes deeply, settling herself. She cannot, she will not allow another to limit her. This was her life. She would turn it over to no one ever again.

She could feel the tingle in her gut that indicated she was in trouble. *And who doesn't like a little trouble,* she thought with a slow, sly smile.

The docks of Duirt were quieter at this hour, save for the occasional creak of moored ships and the rhythmic hush of waves lapping against the pier. Vaelion moved through the shadows with an unhurried stride, the scent of brine and damp timber thick in the air.

In his jacket, the package felt light, almost insignificant, yet its contents had been carefully wrapped to keep the salt from bleeding through. The evening had been long, and his thoughts were still half-lost in the Golden Lion, lingering on wine, whispered tales, and a woman whose voice had wrapped itself around the crowd like a net. But for now, that was set aside.

He cut away from the ships, toward an older warehouse, its walls weathered and stained by years of sea air. The area was mostly abandoned at this hour, a place where only dockhands and vagrants drifted after dark. A perfect spot to keep certain habits unseen.

Vaelion knelt near a pile of stacked crates, setting the package on the worn planks of the dock beside him. He untied the simple binding, peeling back the cloth to reveal the salted fish beneath. There was no hesitation as he tore off a piece and tossed it a few feet away.

A faint rustle in the shadows. Then, a small, wiry cat emerged, her fur ragged but her eyes sharp, watching him with the wariness of something that had never known a gentle hand. He let her take her time, let her sniff at the offering before she snatched it up and swallowed it down in two quick bites.

Behind her, movement—three tiny shapes hesitated at the edge of the shadows, little bodies barely more than fur and bone. The mother flicked her tail, glancing back at them, then at him, measuring the risk.

Vaelion exhaled through his nose, amusement flickering in his teal eyes as he tore another piece free, tossing it closer this time. The mother stepped forward, but one of the kittens darted past her, scrambling for the fish before its siblings could.

A soft chuckle left him, barely more than a breath of sound. “Bold one, aren’t you?” he murmured.

The mother didn’t flinch at his voice this time, too focused on the food in his hand. That was a good sign. They were getting used to him.

He leaned back slightly, one arm resting on his knee as he reached for another piece. A habit picked up from long nights at sea, from places where mercy was not always given to those who needed it.

Not every beast had to be fought. Some only needed to be fed.

Despite her loathing of it, the sea called to her and she could not deny it however hard she tried. Aventernus would have His due of His children for saving them. Every so often, he feet carried her to the water while her mind was elsewhere. This time, her thoughts locked around the peculiar family she had just met, they took her to the Eastern docks.

She heard the mewling cries before she saw what was making them. She stopped, resting a hip against a box, to watch. This great hulk of swagger and stories was crouched down, tossing bits of what she assumed was fish to a starving, feral cat. That tickle in her belly started again when she saw what was causing the rest of the ruckus. It melted completely when she spied him hunched over three miniature balls of skin & squall that were pitting fear vs desire trying to determine if he was safe enough to approach.

*Me too, kittens. Me too,* she thinks.

As he leans back to rummage another piece out of his pocket, his hair falls shrouding his profile. *He looks so unguarded.* The thought comes unbidden. She also knows it's incorrect. If he is anything like his renowned cousin, he knows she is there; knew it the moment he heard her footsteps on the planks beneath her.

She steps back quietly, not wanting to intrude on this vulnerable moment

The docks were quiet, save for the occasional splash of water against the pilings and the soft, hungry mews of the kittens. Vaelion barely moved, his body relaxed in its crouch, one forearm resting on his knee as he tore another piece of fish free. He could feel the mother cat watching him, her ears flicking, torn between caution and hunger. The kittens, still trembling in the space between fear and curiosity, crept closer with each offering.

He rolled the next piece between his fingers, letting the scent carry before setting it down near his boot. A test. Would they come closer? Would instinct overrule hesitation? He had seen it happen a hundred times before—not just with strays, but with people, too. Some had to be lured to the edge before they dared to take the plunge.

And that was when he felt it.

His teal eyes flicked up, just for a breath, hidden beneath the strands of his hair as he leaned back slightly "Word of advice friend, whomever you are. This won't end well for you if you're planning on getting involved in another houses dirty work."

There was something that changed about his demeanor, as though a stillness that could rival the doldrums give way to thunderheads on the horizon.

Jahana stiffens. Though he doesn't move, she is certain he can crush her with a single blow. She's not a fighter, so she will have to talk her way out of this

"Careful now," she purrs softly as she steps out of the shadow. "Dirty work could have mean so many different things. Fortunately for us both, I'm not currently affiliated with any house. So anything I involve myself with is my own affair."

In the lamplight of the Golden Lion, she sparkled. Under the moonlight, she glowed. Both were merely a reflection of her true brilliance and she knew it. She crossed her arms over her chest, accentuating her attributes, and continued. "Though to be called friend? Well, that's worth the assumption regardless of the outcome."

She makes a point to gaze at him, through him, the intensity burning away any pretense that he may choose to do her harm. That gaze drifted, then softened, at the family of felines still trying to determine if he was worth the risk. "Speaking of friends, yours look like they could use another bite."

Footfalls light, she curls around the boxes, crouching as she comes to be beside him. "Psss. Psss. Psss," she calls, hand outstretched. "Tall, dark, and suspicious has nibbles for you. Here pussy, pussy."

She smells of smoke, of the drink she was sipping, of the exertion and passion she put into her performance. Under it, there is something wild and unknown ... and unmistakably female.

The kittens, braver, or hungrier, than their mother, inch closer at the sound of her voice luring them in. "So," she says to him in the same sultry 'come hither' tone she used a moment ago to lure in the felines, "still think this will end badly?"

Vaelion watched as Jahana stepped into the moonlight, her form fluid, confident, deliberately unafraid—even as he could feel the tension in the air between them, a taut wire waiting to snap. He didn’t move, didn’t shift, just let her approach like the tide creeping toward the shore, unhurried but inevitable.

His teal eyes flicked over her, taking in the way she carried herself, the way her words danced on the edge of invitation and challenge, the way she crossed her arms just so. He exhaled softly through his nose, not quite a chuckle, but close enough.

“‘Tall, dark, and suspicious?’” He mused, tossing another sliver of fish toward the smallest kitten, which snatched it up greedily. “You’re bold, I’ll give you that.”

He didn’t miss the way she smelled, the faint traces of smoke and drink, but beneath it, something else—something wilder, something that didn’t belong to taverns or stages, but open roads and untold adventure.

His fingers drummed idly against his knee, his posture still loose, but his presence had weight. He had no reason to play coy, no interest in pretense. The world didn’t need another man who spoke in riddles.

“End badly?” He finally responded, smirking slightly. “That depends. Do you intend to talk all night, or are we getting to the part where you tell me that behind the brooding I'm just a kitten when you offer a little cream?”

The kittens inched closer to her, drawn in by her voice, her warmth, the same things that had ensnared a tavern full of people only an hour before.

Vaelion wasn’t quite so easy to catch. But he didn’t mind watching her try.

Without turning her head from the tentatively approaching furball, she replies, the timbre of her voice unchanging as she continues to lure in her reluctant prey.

"I'm not about to tell you who you are, Lord Atianna. That is not my calling. Mine is to tell everyone else who you are."

She turns her head slightly over her shoulder. "Or at least tell them what you want them to know about you, whichever is the more compelling story. If it just so happens that you're a kitten, well ..."

He can hear the mischief in her tone, see it twinkling in eyes peeking through unbound azure tresses. She moves from kneeling to sitting on her rump, relinquishing all tension from her body. She leans over, languidly extending her hand to the kitten, who scampers away at the movement; its blue eyes not quite ready to completely give up the idea that the giants before it are here to cause it harm.

She rolls her shoulder over, places her head in the hand now crooked under her, and looks up at him. "I don't happen to have any cream on me just now. Perhaps you can help me with that?"

She lets the comment hang between them. She hadn't intended to talk all night. She hadn't intended to be here at all. And she most certainly hadn't intended to find herself on her back under Vaelion Atianna ... yet.

But here she was, and by her own volition, gods damn her. She could have walked away. She could have chosen to exit with his fair-haired cousin. She could have gone to see the Lady of the house, or to of any of the houses looking for work or lodging. She could have chosen a dozen different things to be doing tonight. Instead, she's rolling around on the dock like an inebriated hussy.

*This simply will not do,* comes the thought. But she doesn't move. Will he leave her there? Help her up? Join her? The last thought has zero appeal. Splinters in her ass are not her favorite feeling, and they often require the help of a very good friend ... something which she is sorely lacking at the moment.

Still, she can't *not* notice how perfect it this moment is otherwise. The banter is arousing, and so is the view from her perspective. It had been a while since she was so ... ... ... playful with anyone. It was not her nature, not any more. It was a show for the crowds to bring in coin. But not for him. Something in him tickled at her. She wanted it for herself this time. So she stayed there, audacious under her comment, under him.

*His move*, she thinks, and blinks her eyes slowly

Vaelion, still crouched on his haunches, let a thoughtful hum escape him before making the first move. In a fluid shift, he slid closer to Jahana and eased down until he was sitting beside her, one leg bent so his arm could rest over his knee. Beneath them, the old wood of the dock groaned softly, the only protest against their sudden proximity. “Comfortable,” he remarked in a low voice, eyes flicking briefly to the kitten before returning to her. “You do know how to make an entrance, don’t you?” His tone carried that subtle undercurrent of amusement, rich with suggestion.

He allowed a beat of silence to pass, then reached out, gently tucking a stray lock of her azure hair away from her face. The gesture was unhurried, carefully deliberate. “I can’t claim to be a kitten,” he continued, lips curving into a slow smirk, “but maybe we both have our secrets.” The dock lanterns caught the glint in his teal eyes, highlighting the quiet intensity of his gaze. He was close enough for her to catch the faint brine of saltwater on his skin, close enough that she could sense the unspoken challenge behind his slight smile. He gave her the choice—to pull back or to meet him where he sat, tension humming between them like a drawn bowstring.

(( error seven o seven - skald not found ))

(( lol ))

Gods of the Deep, but he was a vision. His fingertip skimming her temple was rough, but not unpleasant - proof he worked with his hands, well and often. That wasn't a surprise. His body showed her that much. His story, even just the one, told her as well.

All of a sudden there was a different sensation on her skin - fluff, claws, and the tiny nip of teeth. "Hey!", she squeaks as she jerks up, almost clocking him in the chin. Both of them turn to see the tiny, brazen thief scamper off with bits of its treasure dangling from it's maw.

She laughs out loud, the sound rolling through the darkness like light itself cutting fog. He chuckles, mirroring her amusement, as the four-legged interruption runs off with the prize.